


Reptile

by voxane



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Current age Yuri messing around with young victor, De-Aged Victor Nikiforov, Kind of a Crack Premise, M/M, Or not, Rough Sex, THATS UP TO YOU FRIENDO, ambiguous consent, breath play, even the bad ones, sometimes you got bone out some feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxane/pseuds/voxane
Summary: He looked straight out of Yuri’s prepubescent wet dreams, but without that fog that let you know it was artificial. In his dreams, there weren’t words or sounds. Lips would move and Yuri would understand, but there was an uncanny silence. Now he could hear his labored breath, the soft buzzing of the halogen lights, and a too high voice saying something he heard time and time again but was seldom meant for him.“Yuri”





	Reptile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softieghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softieghost/gifts).



> [Mood Music](https://open.spotify.com/track/29Znt9AbEH9FSsw86zPAYT/)

_Too dangerous to keep_

“Yuuri! My package came!” Victor had his palm splayed across the marble top accent table by their door. His keys were tossed with little care if they ended up on table or floor, certainly not the hook where they were supposed to be. He turned to Yuuri, trying to pry open the box with nails far too short for the job. Yuuri hovered over the stove with a smile at least 100 degrees warmer than the burner flames, Victor could tell from here. He was wearing his apron too - his husband was too cute.

“Here, Vitya.” Yuuri dug out a knife and handed it to Victor blade first. Victor made special care not to grip the blade too tight and gutted the box without another thought.

“You know there’s no such thing as miracle shampoo. You were sold snake oil.” Victor doesn’t look at Yuuri but instead digs out the bottle under all the plastic air pockets. He can’t help his ear to ear grin, and he watches Yuuri mirror him when he finally looks up.

“It doesn’t hurt to try, everyone’s blogging about it. Did you see they asked Yurio to promo them on Instagram?” Victor popped the cap open and huffed in the fragrance with a too loud hum, drowning out the soft sizzling of food. “It’s good! Yuuri, smell,” Victor leaned up into Yuuri’s space, trying fight against the weight of the savory aroma’s of spices and meats. Yuuri leaned in to take a whiff regardless.

“It’s nice.” Yuuri smiled, it seemed forced. Victor made sure not to let his face fall. The other shoe was sure to drop in moments. “Phichit is visiting tomorrow,” Yuuri focuses on onions in the pan, still too raw. They reeked. Pungent and overpowering over the fragrance of the other food. Despite that, Victor couldn’t shake the sensation of the phantom scent of sweat and someone else's cum in his sheets burning in the back of his nostrils. “You’re welcome to spend time with us.”

Victor positively made sure not to let his face fall. His grip on his shampoo tightened, but his smile was painted in place.

“No,” his hair fell in front of his eyes. “I know you two have a lot of catching up to do. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Yuuri’s smile relaxes, and Victor can’t decide if it looks sad.

“I’ll head down to the rink. Yurio tweeted something about struggling with his free skate on twitter.” He knew his camera smile was uncanny. He knew Yuuri knew. He had his brows slanted at an angle where Victor didn’t have to question if there was sadness there.

“We’ll get drinks after. You know how I am. I probably won’t be back until sunrise”

“Will you kiss me good morning?” Yuuri's voice was coy, and Victor could get eaten alive with eros eyes.

“Every morning. For the rest of my life.”

* * *

 

Victor opened the doors to the rink with a sounding echo that let him know he was unequivocally alone here. It wasn't the comforting kind of alone, where you felt you could sing at the top of your lungs and get high off the thrill. It was something more impending, foreboding. Dangerous. He shook the thoughts out of his head. What was dangerous about being alone? It's not like anyone was there to hurt him.

He swallowed and pushed those thoughts into a dusty corner of his mind for another time. He came here in search of Yuri and ended up empty-handed. Aside from home his favorite bars - where was he to go?

_Where was he to go._

It was something that plagued him more and more these days. Victor never expected retirement to be a seamless experience. But he had a plan, coaching, choreographing, lunch with Yuuri, ad campaigns, walks with Yuuri, naps with Yuuri. It sounded like a ballad in his mind. But he couldn’t help but feel like a beat was missing. Something like the hiss of the ice. He didn’t skate anymore, but he found himself digging out his old spares he always had here. He didn’t skate, but he tied up the laces. He didn’t skate, but his quad flip was still incredibly clean.

He didn’t skate, but a few hours passed. All of his joints ached and it was a crippling reminder. He really, truly didn’t skate. Going to the showers seemed like a kind of surrender. It was silly. He was absolutely alone, no one could see his jumps get sloppy, or errant curses when his knee would buckle. It was nothing like a retirement press conference with strobing cameras that reflected eyes across the world. He was alone, this was his own little secret. The idea made him nauseous.

He scrambled to the edge of the ice, the panicked steps in metronome with his rapid heart beat. He grabbed his phone and mashed out something obnoxious and vapid to Yurio. He didn't breathe until the dots in the corner stopped bouncing with a slew of middle finger emojis. Victor laughed nervously the moment he had control of his lungs again. He’d shower, then he could meet Yuri. It was something to look forward too. He had his new shampoo. Maybe they’d go to a pub, the kind that looked warm from the window. They could gorge on fatty snacks and frosty mugs of beer. He remembered how much Yuri loved fried mushrooms as a child. They'd have to order some. The thought was almost scandalous, they were certainly not part of his still strict diet, even post-retirement. Victor got chills, the kind you get when you do something you're not supposed to.

* * *

 

Victor, wiped his damp shower-dew hands against his sweater and struggled to unlock his phone. The light of screen felt way too bright, but he could barely see the words. His sense felt muffled, gasping for air as if smothered by a heavy blanket. The only thing that he could grasp was the oppressively pungent scent of his floral shampoo assaulting him.

 _It’s nice_ , he thought.

Then he fell.

* * *

 

Yuri didn’t think about what he’d expect to find when Victor texted him he was at the rink. It was a Friday evening and no one would be skating. Even those who stoke their fires the most typically use Friday to let the embers cool. Victor should know that. Life, love and the ilk.

What Yuri certainly didn’t expect is a delicate form, rising with a drowsy dance pulled by an endless curtain of platinum hair that shined even with a third of the ceiling lights burned out. Yuri had to pinch himself, as trite as it was. He could not wrap his mind around the sight before his eyes.

He’s wearing Victor’s favorite Burberry sweater, the claret one, pooled on the locker room floor. It made victor look sharp. It wasn’t too tight or loose, it fit like it was made for him. This Victor was drowning in it. The collar slipped off his shoulder and threatened to reveal one of his nipples. He looked straight out of Yuri’s prepubescent wet dreams, but without that fog that let you know it was artificial. There was no stage or curtain - Yuri could see the shine on his doe eyes, the glossiness of his lips after he swiped a tongue out to lick them. Any noise he made rang abrasively through the quiet room, even though his tones were soft. In his dreams, there weren’t words or sounds. Lips would move and Yuri would understand, but there was an uncanny silence. Now he could hear his labored breath, the soft buzzing of the halogen lights, and a too high voice saying something he heard time and time again but was seldom meant for him.

“Yuri”

Just the one word riled Yuri up in so many different directions and the tug made his head spin. He had to bite his lip to keep from throwing insults at Victor.

It had to be Victor. Yuri would never mistake him in past, present or future forms. With different hair cuts or ill-fitting clothes, there was a certain charisma that was purely Nikiforov beckoned like a lighthouse even through a haze of confusion.

Yuri didn’t sign up for this, to have to see Victor like this again. To see Russia’s finest and brightest of yesteryear staring him down with parted lips, almost ready to bait him with more false promises. Yuri had to ponder if there was anything that came out of this Victors' mouth that didn’t send him down a winding maze that lead to disappointment.

Perhaps it was a dream. Despite the pain in his lip and the taste of iron in his mouth, it seemed impossible that any of this could be real. He turns on his heel to leave when he hears a whine. It’s fucking pathetic.

“Don’t leave me,”

The wind is knocked out of Yuri and in a lightning instant he has his hand gripped around Victor’s hair in a chaotic ponytail. Victor gasped, and Yuri has his nostrils flared in a snarl.

“That’s real rich, coming from you.” Yuri hits every consonant to sharp, and Victor flinches when there's spit on his face. “You leave easy as you goddamn please. The moment something new and shiny comes around.” Victor’s lips are in a straight line, eyes indignant looking completely unimpressed.

“That’s not true, Yurio-” Victor yelps when Yuri tugs on his hair like he could grab at his heartstrings.

“That’s not my name.” Yuri could feel the fire in his tone, and he knows it’s not warranted. But seeing these bright blue eyes with a watery glaze felt like looking in a window to the past, or maybe another Victor in another time. saw a mirror image of the culmination of every time Victor Nikiforov broke his fucking heart. How he was so replaceable he lost his fucking name to another man.

As if their years of the knotted mess of interactions Victor called friendship was so easy to throw away for big brown eyes and a flamboyant pole dance. As if the late nights of flubbed jumps that would’ve made Yuri hot with embarrassment if it was anyone else was just time. Yuri thought of every night in Victor’s apartment, when he was too sore, or tired, or couldn’t afford fare to get home. They soaked their feet and watched movies, Yuri didn’t remember any of them because Victor always prattled his stream of consciousness for the run time of anything. Yuri liked it better that way.

Yuri knew it was pathetic, but he couldn’t think of staying with victor with anything but fondness. Late nights in Victor’s guest room, skin too hot under wool blankets and hand shoved into borrowed pajama pants were irreplaceable to him. The fact that Victor couldn’t see that made the back of his eyes burn. Yuri grit his teeth and tighten the grip on Victor’s hair like a choke collar to a junkyard dog.

“Yuri,” Victor begged, mouth agape and panting. Yuri’s throat was tight, it felt like there was no air in, the room. Victors breathing remained labored. It was so like him. To suck all the air in the room like he was entitled to it. Yuri let go of Victor’s hair, and he whimpered. He looked down to see Victor scrambling to pull up the pants he was drowning in to cover himself up. Despite his efforts, Yuri could see he was undeniably hard.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Yuri’s growing smirk betrayed his deadpan tone. Yuri tore away Victor's pants, ignoring all the whines and cumbersome flailing of limbs. Victor doesn’t even try to cover himself with the sweater at this point. His head lulled back and legs were splayed, his whole body read surrender. His cock lay so pink and pretty, flush up against glowing skin. Everything Yuri dreamed of as a kid. No, that wasn’t quite right. In his dreams, it was Victor looming over him. Clever smile and hungry eyes, he would have delicate wrist over his cock, and it almost felt more like an encouraging hug than a fantasy hand job. As if Victor thought of him tenderly. Yuri approached him, footfalls ringing loudly. He wanted to make sure Victor heard each one. Let his breath hitch at the thundering sound before shoving his sneaker-clad foot up against his cock. The noise he made wasn’t unpleasant.

“Hard for me Victor? What about _my darling, my love, my soul_.” Yuri spoke in a comically high tone. It didn’t sound like Victor at all. Even this Victor. He pressed harder, earning another strangled noise and interested twitch against his shoe. “Fucking pathetic.”

“Yuri,” Victor moaned unabashedly now. Something about it made Yuri’s blood boil. It’s not like Victor could pretend vile words and too hard touches were coming from anyone but him. Yuri hated the slim chance that he might have been. hands.Victor had his lip bit into an uncomfortable shade, his eyes screwed shut. It wouldn’t do. He kept his foot firm against Victors cock and bent down to grab him by the chin.

“Look at me Victor,” Yuri meant to spit the words like venom, but they came out more commanding than anything. The apprehensive look Victor gave, slowly opening his diamond eyes. He looked almost innocent.

If Yuri wasn’t hard before, he certainly was now.

“Say that you want me,” Yuri’s fingers dug into his cheeks, they were all but sharing breath. “Admit it.” Victor whined underneath him, squirming to get some kind of friction. Yuri shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when it was Victor that closed the space between them with a sharp inhale. Yuri could indulge him, run his tongue over Victor’s and revel in the taste he thought about too many times on the far end of Victor's couch. He’d indulge himself, in living out a fantasy. But he wouldn’t let Victor think he’s distracted him. He pulled off Victor with a smack, and Victor whimpered at the lost.

“Say it.” Yuri’s tone was too desperate and hung in the air like a death sentence noose.

“I want you, Yurio.” Victor gasped the words out, choking for air and Yuri wanted to make him drown in him all over again. It was probably the first time he heard the name and didn’t make him want to scream or fight. For just this once, he was happy to have something that was entirely his own.

He felt frantic now, every little gasp and whine out of Victor leaving him needing more. He peeled the sweater right off of him, slamming his slender body against the lockers. Yuri wondered, between bites and nips at Victor’s neck, if Victor would bruise. In a kind of twisted way, the shades of purple would be pretty on his porcelain skin.

Yuri felt something more than a nip at this collar bone, as Victor bared down teeth with a hum. Yuri couldn’t help but hiss. Victor looked up at him far too content, a smile much older than himself painted across his face. The flash of a smile on a plane to Japan, that sparkled 18 karats under Barcelona moonlight. Yuri felt blinded, and the tooth mark divets in his skin stung with a reminder that this was still the same Victor who knew how to hurt.

Yuri barely registered his hands around Victor’s throat, the throbbing of his heartbeat underneath his calloused thumbs seeming nothing more than regular your breathing until Victor let out a small croak of “more”. Yuri moved his hands like Victor’s skin was molten cast iron. Yuri watched in rapt as Victor's chest fill to impossible sizes with air and his dick slap against his stomach.

“More, Yurio,” Victor held out a fist full of his hair, eyes cloudy with lust. Maybe for Victor, it was just the pain. Maybe it was feeling human. For Yuri, it was like the worlds most fucked up peace treaty. As if still healing wounds could be healed by getting what he wanted so many years. Yuri wasn’t that fucking stupid. Getting his dick wet wouldn't change anything.

He still peeled off his own clothes in such a frenzy he popped the button off his jeans. He smothered Victor, pressing him flat against the lockers. His own body became molten heat so they could melt together like this - hands on his throat, fist in his hair and lips ghosting over his. Something about the shallow puffs of breath on his own wet lips gave him a certain kind of high.

The breaths increased in tempo far too fast to keep count. Yuri untangled his fist from Victor's hair and turned his attention to his dick. Victor’s lung might be refreshed with air but Yuri would damn well leave him breathless. He fisted the two of their cocks together, it was instantly overwhelming. The warbling symphony of every noise Victor made. The labored heavy breathing marbled with whiny moans over the scraping of metal on metal from Victor scrabbling to get any kind of purchase on the lockers behind his back.

“Yurio, I'm gonna-” Yuri didn’t want Victor to talk. The silence was the best part of all this, what made it all so uncanny. Yuri struggled to find any memory where Victor stayed so silent, he commented on anything when rarely anyone asked. Yuri kind of liked it, it was more like his dreams this way.

He clamped a hand over his mouth. Yuri kept the relentless pace of his fist on their cocks, even when Victor's cries got high and piercing, and his shaky hands met Yuri’s wrists. Yuri looked into watery unfocused eyes, as he dragged a hand over his neck once more. Yuri thought he might have seen a smile, as he gave a final push against Victor's throat. Victor came with a yowl, every limb writhing as if his nerves were on fire. It was so dramatic, as if he was truly on the brink of life. It was so fucking Victor.

Maybe they were dying, Yuri mused, rubbing Victor’s cum up and down his cock as he worked himself. It didn’t feel particularly slick. Victor's cum dried too fast and melded with that constant stale air locker room smell. The scent of sweat and cum tasted sour on the back of his tongue through association alone. Yuri ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and pumped himself harder. Victor looked lifeless, despite his chest heaving, slacked jawed and dripping with small silent sighs.

Somewhere in this life and death limbo was _here_. Was _them_. A perfect purgatory in a dank locker room, and god wasn’t it fitting. Victor blinked slowly at him, his own way of letting him know he was okay. That it was okay for Yuri to fist his hair and shove his cock down his throat one last time. It was okay to hold his face so close, so rough, after everything they did. It was okay when Yuri came whole body wracked with a whimper.

“Vitya,”

The room seemed so much smaller, the lights so dim it almost felt coffin like. Yuri knew he should say something. Somewhere between “ _I love you I hate you I’m sorry_ ”. But it’s Victor who’s the first to stand, gulping down Yuri’s cum.

“Let’s go home”

* * *

 

Victor stepped into Yuri's apartment, barefoot in spare leggings, not expecting it to be so warm. He might have grown, but he still had ‘ice tiger’ tendencies that didn’t seem like they’d overlap with domesticity. Before Victor could even turn to ask, there was a hand on his shoulder and a ponytail whipping past him.

“Beka, babe, shit got weird.” Victor padded to follow Yuri, helpless to stare as he leaned down to kiss Otabek. It innocuous enough, Otabek sprawled on the couch with a book. The Age of Innocence. Victor has trouble hearing their conversation - between hushed tones and the tea kettle screaming in his mind echoing danger. It started as a low hiss that rose to a screech that he could only drown out by grasping Yuri’s hand.

“Vitya,” He gave himself whiplash to turn to Yuri. Otabek was suddenly out of the scene, and Yuri was fussing in the kitchen. Victor didn’t know how much time had passed, or when they moved to the kitchen. He couldn’t even tell what he was doing, only catching the glint of a blade of a knife.

“Otabek’s fixing up the guest room,” Yuri’s hands moved so meticulously. Victor had no idea Yuri knew how to handle a knife like that. He briefly wondered if Yuri could cook. Victor always assumed that he was like him and never learned. When Yuri used to come over they always got take out, Yuri’s eyes always went wide at the first bite of greasy food that was their little secret.

“If you want though, you could stay with me.” Yuri approached him with a plate. Victor had accepted the way Yuri towered over him now, but suddenly he felt incredibly small. “Beka understands how hard this is. Would you like that?”

Yuri bent down with a plate of sliced apples. He smiled, and for a flash of an instant, Victor could swear he saw a flick of a tongue and a flash of amber in his eyes. He reached for an apple and peeled the skin off with his teeth. He could only nod.

“That’s a good boy.”

_Too feeble to let go_

**Author's Note:**

> "I don't have super strong feelings about Victurio" - A dead bitch, Fri 22 Sep 2017 07:13PM ED
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to Tori for Beta-ing this 9k years ago. Thank you so much to Leg to cursing me with this ship. I'm sorry it took me so long to give this to you.


End file.
